Through The Valley Of Death: Book 2
by CheeZFingerSlim
Summary: What is left of the American military has acted and sent out Search and Rescue teams a month after the start of the outbreak. One of these teams, Epsilon, happens to stumble upon the what remains of the Cross Roads Mall survivors. As the mission deadline comes to a close, Epsilon decides to head back to base. However, unexpected troubles may make their return impossible...
1. A New Beginning

**Author's Note: **Welcome back folks! It's only been... what, two or so years?

So, I finally got off my ass and decided to buckle down and start the second part of my Through The Valley of Death Trilogy.

If you haven't read Part One, you can easily go do so, if you please.

I'm sorry for taking so long to bring this out, everyone who enjoyed the original and wanted to read the sequel. I certainly hope that this doesn't let anybody down!

* * *

The UH-60 Blackhawk Helicopter swept over the large, city that was, or used to be, Milwaukee, Wisconsin. They'd been flying for the past hour and a half, searching for survivors of this apocalypse. Unfortunately, they hadn't seen anybody since their first day. It'd been four since then and things were looking hopeless. Was that all there was to this city?

_One_ survivor? It was a disappointing conclusion to come to.

Staff Sergeant Jacob Prince kept peering out the door of the Blackhawk through a pair of binoculars, watching the people they had been told were "Infected" look up, then sprint after the helicopter as quickly as possible after it. Ultimately, the Infected were far too slow to catch up with the UH-60.

Sighing, Jacob shook his head. "Connor, Adams, let's make one last sweep over the lake and then get the hell out of here!"

"Roger that, Sergeant." The pilot said, changing course.

The man they'd picked up chuckled. He was a tall, thin man, almost a half foot taller than Jake. His dingy brown hair was long, a bit past his shoulders and a pair of rectangular glasses were perched upon his nose. He was clean shaven, oddly enough, and had on a brown jacket with an ugly blue shirt underneath as well as a pair of black slacks. He'd introduced himself as Joel Richards and he gave Jacob the creeps.

"The islands, hm?" He mused, twiddling his thumbs.

"Yeah." Jake answered. "We haven't checked there yet."

"I know." Joel answered, smiling calmly. "I've been here the entire time." He paused. "Well, most of the time. I have to say, it's very unlikely that there'll be anybody alive down there, but you're the boss."

Jake grunted and turned away. That man was just too creepy; he was always so calm and collected. Even when they'd found Joel, he was as calm as ever despite the fresh blood that had been staining his shirt and the half empty SIG-Sauer in his hand. When they picked him up, Joel claimed that he had been forced to execute the other two people who had been with him because they'd been infected and had reanimated. At the time, the fireteam had no reason to doubt the odd man, but now Jacob was having second thoughts.

There were a total of seven people on-board the Blackhawk. Besides Jacob and Joel, there was Corporal Matthew Goldsmith, the team's close quarter combat expert and one of Jake's personal friends; Chief Warrant Officer 4 Mark Adams, the pilot and his co-pilot, Warrant Officer 2 James Connor; bright young marksman - or marks_woman_ as the case would be - Private First Class Kiara Ocampo, or as everyone else called her, "Red" and finally there was their medic and also a linguistics' expert, Specialist Holly Dawson.

Jacob had personally selected these five soldiers to be apart of his team, Firetime Epsilon, one of twenty-four teams that had been assembled to go back into what remained of the United States for search and rescue missions. They were all highly trained and well coordinated soldiers with outstanding performances.

Jacob and Matthew themselves had been apart of the Green Berets before everything went to hell, transferring to the 160th Operation Aviation Regiment when offered the position. Mark Adams had been a pilot in the 101st Airborn Divison and had an amazing track record; it was on his advice that James Connor had been picked up as a co-pilot. Jacob had heard many things about Kiara Ocampo's skill with a rifle at long range from other members of the 2nd Battalion 5th Marines and had desperately sought her out. Holly Dawson was the only member of the team who Jacob knew next to nothing about. When he he been going over files, searching for a medic, something about her leaped out at him and that was that.

For the last month or so, they - along with the other teams - had been training for these operations, becoming a more close-knit and functional group. They had bonded quite well and were more than ready to set out in the end.

The weapons they had been geared up with were unorthodox for a mission of this scale. Replacing the M4 Carbine was the H&K MP5A4 fitted with a flashlight and M68 Aimpoint red dot sight scope, while the M9 Beretta was being swapped out for the 3rd Generation Glock 17; all weapons were chambered with hollow-point rounds, to maximize damage. Any kind of non-lethal gear, such as flash bang or tasers was just being replaced with the MK3 concussion grenade or more ammunition. Additionally, they were being given less armor.

It was explained that the reason behind these choices was because they would be fighting an unusual enemy and wanted to improve effectiveness when dealing with this new enemy compared to before. Because the enemy were people who were sick and beyond help, and would not be wearing armor or firing back at them, they would have no need for standard weapons, armor or tactics. For this mission, mobility and ammunition count took presidence over just about everything else when it came to combat situations.

So far, though, this mission appeared to be a bust; there _were_ no survivors. At least, not in the sections they'd swept over. Jake could only hope the other teams had had more luck.

Glancing back out the open door of the helicopter, the Sergeant could see one of the great lake's coming up. He raised his binoculars again and peered through them as they began to cross over the water.

"ETA to the islands is about ten minutes." Adams announced.

"You think we're gonna find anybody, Chief?" Kiara suddenly asked, crouching down as close as she dared to door.

For some God-awful reason, she had decided to give everyone on the team a nickname early on so they were like her and nobody (unfortunately) had objected. Jacob was "Chief" for obvious reasons, Mark and James were "Airman" and "Flyboy" respectively, Holly was "Doc", and finally Matt was "Goldie" because of his last name. About the only time she abandoned the nicknames was in heated situations.

"No idea." He replied, glancing over at the Private.

"I hope so." Red said, leveling her M40 Rifle so she too could get a better view through the rifle's scope. In a hushed tone, she quickly added. "And I hope they're a lot less creepy than that other guy."

Jacob laughed, nodding. "You and me both." He was about to add something when he noticed Red peering closely through her scope.

"Holy shit!" She said suddenly, eyes widening. "We've got a boat!"

Jacob quickly swung his binoculars up, gazing through them in the same direction as her. Sure enough, there was a large boat sitting in the water. He was sure he could make out a human shape or two on the deck as well.

"Swing us around, Adams!" Jake barked, not taking his eye off of the boat, even as the helicopter jerked around.

As the Blackhawk drew closer, the boat became more and more clear. On the deck, there were four people; two were standing and waving, looking up at the helicopter while two shapes were on the ground, one sitting - leaning against a wall - and one lying down.

"Goldsmith, Dawson, you two with me. Red, cover us from above." The Sergeant commanded, kicking out three of the drop lines from the chopper.

Slinging their weapons over their shoulders, Jacob, Matthew and Holly zipped down their lines and onto the deck of the boat.

Jake brought his SMG up, sweeping it around as he quickly scanned the boat to make sure there were no surprise guests. He sensed no threat and turned to the first person who was standing. He was a big man, wearing a denim jacket and a black cap that read 'Security.'

"Have any of you been bitten?" The Sergeant asked, keeping his weapon trained on the man.

"No." The Security man said quickly, holding his arms up. "He's the only one who got bit and he did himself in." He pointed over to the body that was lying on the ground.

Up close now, Jake could see a puddle of blood around his head. He was face down, arms and legs spread out, bite marks visible on his arms and even through the rips in his black shirt. Whatever had happened, he'd gone down fighting before shooting himself.

He turned his attention away from the dead body and to the other two figures. The second was a dark haired female - Latino, if Jake had to guess - and the third was an older man, likely in his late forties and also wearing a cap. His left arm was bandaged up, but despite that, he clutched a compact shotgun tightly.

Slowly, the soldier lowered his weapon and quickly ordered Holly to check the older man before turning back to the man with the Security hat. "What happened here?"

"Bad things." The man responded cryptically. "The name's C.J. That's Melissa, and that's Tucker." He introduced them, pointing to the others.

"Staff Sergeant Jacob Prince, 160th Special Operation Aviation Regiment, leader of Fireteam Epsilon." Jacob explained, giving a forced smile. "We've been scouting the area for the past few days and you're the only survivors we've encountered. We were heading toward the islands, and-"

"Yeah, well don't bother with those fucking island. They're full of those damn things. We just came from there two days ago." C.J. said, before tacking on. "Back when there was nine of us."

Jacob frowned deeply. "Nine of you?"

"Yeah. Bad things happened." C.J. repeated with a nod.

"Well, there's no need to worry anymore. We're here to get you to safety."

"Great. Where the fuck were you guys a week ago?" He snarled harshly.

Jake ignored it and waved up at the Black Hawk, signaling for it to be lowered.

"Gather up any and all supplies!" Jacob shouted as the noise from the engines grew louder. C.J. simply nodded in response, then turned away to collect whatever they had.

The chopper didn't touch the water or the boat, but stayed low enough for everyone to pile in. Altogether, the survivors from the boat had two duffel bags, a back pack and a fanny pack full of guns and ammunition along with some dwindling water supplies.

After everyone was safely inside, Jake slammed the door shut and Adams brought the helicopter up then turned away from the islands. The Black Hawk flew South, away from the lakes. Meanwhile, Holly and Jake passed out MREs and bottles of water to the three they'd picked up from the boat who gratefully began to chow down. Joel rejected the offer on the other hand.

Jake and the other soldiers sat down, setting their weapons aside, deciding to munch on their own MREs. After everyone had eaten, the older man - Tucker - looked over and adjusted his hat before speaking.

"You said we were headin' toward safety." He said, rubbing his chin. "Where exactly is safety?"

"Fort Recovery." Joel said before anybody else could answer. "It's a large military installation that was set-up in Costa Rica somewhere on the Southern peninsula. If I recall correctly, it's a little over a hundred miles from Panama. Isn't that right, soldiers?"

Jacob blinked, then slowly nodded. "Yeah, that's it. How did you...?"

Joel tapped his nose, smirking. "I have sharp senses."

"Costa Rica?" Tucker's eyes were wide. "How the hell did you guys get all the way up to Wisconsin?"

"Well, after the defense efforts were deemed a failure, what was left of the United States military then began to fall back toward Mexico. I dunno about the rest of the military, but me and the rest of the Green Berets that were left originally moved our operations to Fresnillo and that worked for a little bit. After things began getting hectic there, we moved to Oaxaca, then Guatemala and just kept falling back.

"Thankfully, we met up with more of the military in Costa Rica. We've managed to seal off and secure a small section of the Coata Rica's Southern peninsula, from Guerra down is safe. I'm one of the soldiers who volunteered for this mission so I could come back and save as many people as possible. Unfortunately..." Jacob frowned, looking around the helicopter. "we haven't been very successful."

"I can see that." C.J. remarked coldly.

"C.J..." The Hispanic woman glanced over to her friend, frowning.

"Don't mind him." Tucker said, shaking his head. "We've just had a rough time."

"I understand." The Sergeant said, nodding.

There was an awkward silence hanging in the air for the next few minutes. Joel was studying the new comers, twiddling his thumbs as usual while the others were sitting uncomfortably. Jake finally opened his mouth after several minutes.

"So... what happened to you guys?" He asked.

The three survivors exchanged glances then Tucker leaned forward. "You want the long version or the short version?"

The Sergeant chuckled. "We've got time."

Tucker nodded, removing his cap and wiping sweat from his forehead before starting. "Well..."

* * *

**Author's Note: **And there's chapter one folks.

Hope it wasn't too bad! I'm not good at starting stories!

Anyways, just a little trivia, if anybody cares, yes, that was Michael who was dead on the boat. As for the other survivors from the first story... well, you'll all just have to wait and see.

I'll try to have the next chapter out as soon as possible! Until then, see ya later!


	2. The Past Should Stay Dead

The sun was high in the sky, signaling the arrival of noon. It was a good thing they'd been picked up before the sun reached it's boiling point.

Melissa kept her head down, caught up in her own thoughts rather than listening to Tucker's story. She already knew all the events they had gone through and didn't care to relive them. So she hunkered down and blocked everyone else out, instead focusing on her own thoughts.

Unfortunately, her thoughts only drifted back to what had happened. She bit her lower lip and chewed furiously, squeezing her eyes shut. She tried to shut those thoughts out, but to no avail.

Everything had gone, for the most part, smoothly after they departed from the Marina. Nobody was infected, they had supplies and everything was okay. Gas was dwindling and it had been Michael's idea to use the sails until they got to the island just incase there were any unwanted surprises.

As they reached the docks on the island, everyone armed themselves and left the boat. It all seemed well as they set their supplies down, until an all too familiar sound pierced the air. Before they knew it, there was a horde of the infected coming at them. Gun fire rang out as everyone did their best to retreat.

Well, almost everybody.

Nicole wanted to get Chip, who had run off when they'd docked. Melissa and Terry did their best to pull her back onto the boat, but she was surprisingly strong. She smashed her elbow into Terry's nose, which left Melissa to try and hold the girl back herself. Somewhere in all the flailing, Nicole lost her footing and fell off of the docks, but not before hitting her head on the side of the boat. Infected jumped in after her.

Terry had done his best to save his girlfriend, but it was already too late. Melissa wasn't sure what had happened to Ana or Kenneth, she had been too busy with Nicole to pay attention to everyone else and by the time she regained her senses, those two were no where to be seen.

That left only her, Kyle, C.J., Michael, Terry and Tucker, though, Michael was already doomed. She saw him fighting desperately, armed with a crowbar they'd managed to stash away before their departure, striking, punching and kicking at the infected as they tried to come aboard, small parts of his skin already torn away. Tucker managed to start the engine and began to back away from the docks, but it was taking too long.

Kyle, C.J. and Terry were standing on the side of the boat closest to the docks, doing what they could do defend their ship. Unfortunately, a large infected man that Michael had been wrestling with got away from him and made a b-line for Terry. Kyle shoved him out of the way and toppled over board into the lake, along with the man. Sadly, his efforts were in vain because Terry rolled off the deck as well, unable to catch himself.

The last she saw of Kyle was him bobbing in the water, kicking wildly to keep himself afloat while fighting desperately against the infected man, combat knife in hand.

She knew then that she'd never see him again. He was dead, would be soon, or was worse off than that. When she finally accepted this, it felt as if someone had punched a hole in her heart. Kyle had been special to her, she knew she felt something incredible for him deep down, but now...

Now he was gone and there was nothing she could do. Just another victim to this plauge.

She felt tears stinging her eyes and brought her hands up to her dirty face, choking back a sob that welled up in her throat. She felt a hand on her shoulder and looked over to see C.J., a pained expression on his usually hard features.

"You okay, Mel?" He asked quietly, genuinely concerned.

She slowly nodded, wiping at her face.

"Y-yeah... Just fine." Melissa answered firmly, not willing to let the others see her cry.

"I see, you three have been through a lot then." One of the soldiers who had rescued them, Jacob something-or-other, spoke. He was a broad shouldered, handsome man with short, dark colored hair, coal colored eyes and a good amount of stubble on his face unlike all the other male soldiers she'd seen so far. "Well, like I said before, we're going to do the absolute best we can to keep you people safe and get you back to Fort Recovery."

"Sounds like a plan." Tucker said, nodding approvingly.

"How long do you think it'll be until then?" C.J. asked.

"Well, we're gonna touch down and refuel soon, but after that anywhere from twelve to fifteen hours." Jacob explained. "We'll need to make at least one more fuel stop before we make it to Costa Rica and assuming the conditions and environment are fair, then it shouldn't take more than fifteen minutes."

"Yes, but in the wake of this disaster, what are the chances of our conditions being fair?" The other survivor that had been picked up days earlier, Joel, questioned, cocking an eyebrow.

Jake stared at him for a couple of seconds before replying. "Are you always a pessimistic ass?"

The long haired man simply shrugged his shoulders, chuckling softly. "There's no need to be offended, Sergeant. I'm not a pessimist, simply a realist."

"There's a fine line between the two."

"Perhaps..."

"Hey, hey, hey boys!" A female soldier spoke up. "Break it up you two, turn the testosterone down a couple of notches."

Joel merely chuckled, leaning back in his seat, folding his hands in his lap. "No raging hormones here, my dear."

"Yeah, Red." Jacob said, looking over at his fellow soldier. "We're just having a friendly conversation."

"Sure sounded like it." The female soldier, Red as she had been called, said with a roll of the eyes.

Red was an attractive woman, slim and lean, and probably an inch or two taller than Melissa herself. She had dark hair that was cut to her shoulders and tied back with a hair band, leaving only her bangs hanging down. Her eyes were a dark brown color and she was clad in military fatigues and armor like the others. Her weapon of choice, however, was different; it was a large, bolt action sniper rifle that was olive in color. It looked like something Kyle might have used.

When the soldier noticed Melissa eying her weapon, she smiled and asked, "You got a thing for rifles?"

Melissa smiled halfheartedly, nodding a bit. "Yes and no. Someone we lost was a sniper. He and his friend rescued me from Fort Pastor..." She trailed off, staring at the floor.

"No need to say anymore." Red said, giving a thumbs up. She then propped her rifle up, placing the stock against the floor. "This right here is my baby, Trudy. She's an M40A3 Sniper Rifle. Magazine fed, bolt action, chambered with those sexy 7.62x51mm rounds and fitted with a pretty little Scout Sniper Day Scope on top. She's served me well for the past two and a half years."

Everyone paid attention as Red began to explain all the modifications she had made to her rifle in the time she'd had it. Melissa had a feeling that she wasn't explaining it for any reason other than to get everyone's mind off the negative feelings floating around.

Jake chuckled beside her when she had finished, crossing his arms over his broad chest. "Nice job, Red. You gonna tell 'em all about every other weapon we got on board now, or are you done?"

The dark haired soldier's cheeks reddened and she scowled (though it was clearly playful) at her commanding officer. "Stuff it, Chief!"

Everyone shared a laugh at this. When the laughter died, the next person to speak was one of the soldiers who'd dropped down onto the boat. He was a thin, lean man who had short cut light brown hair and a pair of gorgeous blue-green eyes. His body was rippling with muscles and he had a fair complexion.

"Ocampo's our team's marksman, so she's good with guns. She's chalk full of knowledge and just loves to share. Nothing wrong with that, though, we all become chatter boxes on the right subjects." He said, giving everyone a smile.

"Aww, thanks Goldie!" Red beamed up at the taller man.

"Goldie?" Tucker asked.

"Oh." Red grinned then jerked her thumb toward herself. "The name's Kiara Ocampo, but ya'll can call me Red. This is Matt Goldsmith," she pointed to the soldier to her left. "Jake Prince," she then pointed to him. "our two pilots are Mark Adams and James Connor" she pointed to the pilot seats. "and finally, Holly Dawson." she pointed to a small woman who was sitting close to the pilots.

Holly was a small, fragile looking woman. She had strawberry blond hair which was all tied back and out of her face, revealing a pair of hazel colored eyes. She was pale and had a timid aura about her, but something told Melissa that she would be quite a surprise if pushed. It was always the quiet ones you had to watch out for.

"Speaking of Holly." Red turned to the other female soldier. "She's been so quiet, I almost forgot about her! Come on, Holly, speak up!"

Holly looked up at the others, almost looking surprised that she had been acknowledged. "Umm..." She said quietly, smiling shyly. "Bonjour."

C.J. cocked an eyebrow. "French, hm? You don't look French."

"Ah, lay off C.J." Tucker sighed. "Do you have to be an ass to everyone?"

"Well, actually Holly here _is_ of French decent. Her Great Grandparents immigrated here from France." Matt pointed out, giving the small soldier a reassuring grin.

"Yep, yep." Red stood up and walked over to the other female soldier. "We're all a big happy family on-board this bird and Doc here is our little sister."

"Sorry to break up the fun, but we're gonna need to land here soon so we fuel up, Sergeant." One of the pilot's called back.

Jake nodded then stood up, walking up toward the cockpit. Melissa meanwhile settled back into her seat, her eyes falling shut. She felt herself beginning to drift off when the chopper began to descend and soon she felt someone shaking her. Her eyes flipped open, startled and she instinctively reached for a handgun that wasn't there anymore.

"Melissa!" Tucker was in front of her, shotgun in his hands. "Phew, good thing you weren't fully asleep. You sleep like a rock, ya know that?"

She smiled crookedly, sitting up. She wasn't sure what was going on, but Tucker quickly clarified.

"Well, get on up." He said, turning away. "We've all gotta keep watch while the tanks're being filled."

* * *

"Where are we?" Melissa asked as she stepped out of the helicopter and onto the baseball field.

"Chicago." Kiara answered, peering ahead through the scope of her M40. "We're smack dab in the middle of Wrigley Field. They tried to set-up a temporary base here when this whole thing started, but it didn't turn out so well, as you can see."

There were a couple tents left standing in the field now. Most had been torn down or blown away and there were quite a few mostly decomposed bodies littering the ground. Some were in the field itself while others were in the stands and many spots in the famous ivy covered walls had been torn away. There were also some supply crates scattered about with who-knew-what in them as well as a variety of weapons lying around. it smelled pretty bad, but because most of the bodies were almost completely rotted away, the worst had passed. One could only imagine how bad it would have been a week after this happened

Red watched as Jake and Matt, who'd gone on ahead and sealed off the gates to the field themselves, made their way back. It seemed the area was secure, so she turned back toward the pilots and waved her hand in a circle, signaling for them to start filling up the chopper.

"Wow, Wrigley stadium..." Tucker turned in circles, taking in the sights.

Red chuckled. _Boys will be boys._ She thought to herself.

"You're a baseball fan?" She asked casually.

Tucker nodded furiously. "Yes, Ma'am, I am. I used to play back in High School." He said proudly. "They used to call me Tucker Pepper Palms!"

Kiara laughed. "For your pitching or catching?"

"Both." He replied. "I taught myself to be ambidextrous; I can throw with my right and catch with my left."

"Not bad." She nodded her head. "Could've used more ambidextrous guys like you on the field."

Jacob and Matthew returned at about this time.

"Welcome back, boys." Red said with a smile.

"Thanks, Private." Jacob said in his typical fashion. She sighed, shaking her head. The Sergeant then looked over at the helicopter. "Adams, Connor, how's it coming along?"

"Everything's going smoothly, Sergeant!" Airman hollered. "Another ten or so minutes, and we'll be ready to go."

"Alright, that gives us a little bit of time to gather supplies." Chief signaled for his team to pay attention. "Dawson, you stay here with the survivors, Ocampo, Goldsmith, you two-"

"We don't need some fucking babysitter. This ain't a fucking nursery school." C.J. protested. "We survived for a whole month and a half without your fucking help, we don't need to be watched."

Red was taken back by the way C.J. spoke to the Chief. Not many soldiers - let alone civies - would dare speak that way to someone of authority. She had a feeling a man like him would have made a good Marine.

"Regulations. We're obligated to protect you." Chief replied stiffly. Apparently he hadn't expected anybody to talk to him like that either.

"Yeah, fuck your regulations. We don't need some fucking wanna-be hero-"

"C.J., stop it! Was Kyle a wanna-be hero?"

As soon as Melissa spoke, C.J. stopped. He frowned, shooting the woman a glare. With a roll of his eyes, he stayed quiet, sulking. Jacob sensed the tension and a hand signal later, the team left the survivors they'd picked up on their own by the helicopter.

The next few minutes were slow; the soldiers began to collect crates full of supplies that had been left behind and loaded them onto the chopper, as they had been instructed to do by General Swanson before they left. It was still early in the day, about 2:12 PM according to Kiara's watch. If they kept up this pace, they would be back at Fort Recovery before midnight.

Just as they began to load the last crate onto the bird, however, their radios crackled.

"Hello? Hello, is anybody there? Please, we saw your helicopter, please respond!"

Immediately, Chief snatched up his radio and clicked the button, speaking loudly into it.

"This is Staff Sergeant Jacob Prince, 160th Special Operation Aviation Regiment. What is your status? Over."

"Oh, my God." The voice, a female, on the other side gasped. "We're... we're okay. I'm... My name. My name is Linda Plum, I'm a teacher. Me and about six other people, three students, a police officer and the principal, are all locked up at a high school. Where are you?"

"Wrigley Field, Ma'am. Do you know where you are from our position?" As he said this, Jacob signaled for them to grab the maps. Goldie was on it immediately.

"Wrigley Field? Um... um..." There was a short silence before somebody else came over the radio.

"Yeah. You're, like, ten miles away, my Dad used to take me there all the time. Uh, I'm not too good with directions, but our address is... 2148 North Long Avenue." This voice was a young male. "Please come get us Be careful though, man. Outside, there's a ton of those things."

"Got'cha. Thank you for the coordinates, we will be there as soon as possible. Just stay calm, we will keep in contact. Over."

Two minutes later, Goldie was pointing at a spot on the map. "Got 'em, Jake."

"Where are they?"

"South West. They're only about eight miles away. We can get there in less than five minutes if we leave now."

"Adams, Connor, how're we doing on the fueling situation?" Chief shouted.

"We're done here, Sergeant. We just need to move this tank back inside and we can be off the air ASAP." Airman answered.

"Get it done, Adams! We leave here in five minutes!"

"On it, Sarge!"

"This is it, team!" Jacob turned to Goldie and herself. "Get switched on, this is the real deal! We've gotta a job to do, let's move, move, move!"

The team hurried and hauled the last crate up the ramp and into the helicopter, then ushered everyone in. The bird's rotars picked up speed as they strapped in and was lifting off and into the air a few minutes later.


End file.
